Layla Lamperouge
General Information *'Race: Half Fomorian, Half Elven. Vampiric.' *'Sex: Female' *'Age: Twenty Three Years' *'Talent Title; Class: Battle Sorceress; Swindler and Keeper' *'Skill Sets: Strategic Warfare, Assassination, and Weapons of Any Sort' *'Public Position Held: Empress of Empire Apotheosis' *'Place of Living: Cecidit Rokus' 'Distinct Abilities' Layla's mastery of weapons gives her a distinct advantage in combat, allowing her to switch from weapon to weapon with ease, and make good use of each. Her primary strength lies in the control she has over her body. A protective field over her flesh can be strengthened nearly at will, should enough mana energy (which exceeds all Keepers' amounts, save Allen the Mystic) be available to allocate to such a task; this field is considerably weaker over her head, however. Should she require more mobility, black wings will burst from her back, giving her the ability of flight. As for rather unnatural abilities, Layla's former land believed in entities who govern totally over their respective aspect of the world; Life, Death, Water, Fire, Peace, Chaos. . .All had a "Ruler". Due to this, the abilities she does not naturally hold are "granted" from those she feels are in charge of them; for example, her minor control and connections to the Night and Darkness, when in reality, the so-called entity she truly spoke with was that of a more sinister sort. 'Background Story: Before Alkarus' A young girl within the latter teenage years strides through one of the many hallways in a large, heavily decorated castle. The flaming sun's light pours in through the wide, iron reinforced windows, reflecting through her square eye glasses into her sea blue eyes. Her home's white marble floors are quite lustrous; mimicking a mirror, they show her short, male-styled black hair as it bounces with every step. She halts her journey, now gazing at her full reflection for a moment with a wistful gaze, many horrid thoughts running through her already troubled mind. In the midst of her attention diversion, a single guard catches her out of the corner of his eye, running to her in a sprint. He takes a hold of her hand, leading her away from the public as quick as an armoured man might be able to, muttering apologies for his haste. She audibly groans, giving little to no resistance as she is taken to her room, which happens to be quite isolated from the rest of her family's. The female shuts the door, locking the guard outside as she turns to a much older, crowned man, observing him cautiously. She gives an exasperated sigh, speaking with a voice that would rightfully belong to a man. "What wishes of yours may entail for this instance, Father. . .? 'tis nearly the banquet. . . ." He shakes his head out of pure condescension. "Private quarters, child. Speak in any voice you so desire. . . .Why were you meandering about the castle? Eavesdropping once more?" The apparent female Prince raises an eyebrow, cocking her head to the side, mimicking innocence. Her voice is now as one would expect. . . .a woman's. She disregards the question of his, with one of her own. "The sickness has taken over, already? When may I expect your joyous departure?" "Hold your tongue, young prince. . . .However, two weeks." The royal father gives her a harsh look. "I assure you that no mere. . . . . . .female, may lead the throne. As if a woman has the ability to perform such a task. . .But you, your cooperation in learning to be the same as a male make you half as competent as any man that I could see fit for such a title." She gives a gentle glare. "Disregarding your uncouth statements. . . .What could you mean by 'training'? You have yet to let me past the front gates of the castle, holding me captive. I know not how a woman, such as myself, should even act. You stole my identity so you may have an heir. Are you this unable to find a man to do this job, if we women are as incapable as you say?" "I had not went over bloodlines, did I. . .?" After a pompous explanation over how their blood was ostensibly superior to other noble lines, the Prince lets out a guttural growl. "Apart and separate from this nonsense, I had not finished. . .I was forcefully taught to act and appear as a male, because you were unsuccessful in bearing a son, nor do you have living male relatives, correct?" The king nods slowly, running his hand down his graying beard as he examines the lass up and down, gradually becoming despondent due to the bickering. She resumes. "And, shall I remind you of the flaws? What of the future? I cannot marry to a female and have said female give birth to a child. What of the 'superior blood ', trm?" "We hold no other choice. You are the final living child within our line. This, you. . .self proclaimed 'Master Strategist', is for you to figure out yourself." Interrupting his lecture, the ringing of a distant church bell plays. ". . .Go, don your robes, 'tis the hour before the banquet." He frowns, eyeing her protruding chest, as she gradually, reluctantly, undresses. The Female Prince shoots a look of disgust towards the older male. "Become a voyeur, have you?" The Ill King looks to the side at a rather long strand of wrapping gauze from her bedside table, tossing it over to her. "Hide it, lass. Do you care anything for the Kingdom. . .?"